


And You Don't Need Me

by literalfuckinggarbage



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Caleb Widogast Deserves Nice Things, Caleb Widogast Needs a Hug, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Mollymauk Tealeaf, Hurt/Comfort, Mollymauk Tealeaf's Backstory, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Mollymauk Tealeaf, Other, POV Caleb Widogast, Pre-Canon, Protective Mollymauk Tealeaf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:35:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29502120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literalfuckinggarbage/pseuds/literalfuckinggarbage
Summary: Bren Aldric Ermendrud has been on the run for three years after escaping from the Vergesson Sanatorium. Occasionally, he finds comfort in traveling with others, even when he doesn't deserve it.So when he finds a purple tiefling whose only word is "empty," they travel together for a time. That is, until the tiefling's kindness becomes too hard for him to bear.
Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf & Caleb Widogast, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 86
Kudos: 144





	1. I've Been Ghosting Along

**Author's Note:**

> title from _Ghosting_ by Mother Mother
> 
> set two years before Caleb met Nott, and so about two and a half years before the formation of the Mighty Nein

When Bren heard the groaning, his first thought was that it had come from some sort of undead. With a flame in his hand, he continued down the pathway with all the caution of a spooked deer, straining against the darkness to see what made the sound and cursing himself for not stopping to make camp before it grew so late.

The figure was taking staggering steps down the pathway towards him, making that horrible groaning sound again. That didn’t remove the thought of it being undead from Bren’s overactive imagination.

Bren hadn’t done much today but walk, though he couldn’t underestimate this creature. He wasn’t as strong as he once was. Not by a longshot.

So he ducked behind a tree, sending Frumpkin out to investigate.

Seeing through his familiar’s eyes, the bengal cat trotted up to the creature.

He could hear a voice in his head, a voice he didn’t want anywhere near him, whispering softly to neutralize the threat. There was no time for weakness, no time to wait to be stabbed in the back. He needed to use the element of surprise while he still had it. Hesitation was only for the weak.

Bren pushed the voice down and watched through Frumpkin’s eyes to see what was happening, though his fingers remained poised to send him back to his pocket dimension at the first sign of danger. He could always get the cat back, but stealing that much incense was tricky at best and a death sentence in the wrong town here in the Empire. But there was no need to dwell on that, not when he needed all his focus on the here and now, on this possible threat.

A tiefling, it seemed, if the tail and horns were any indication, was walking down the path, covered in bruises and some strange red markings. But they stopped when they saw Frumpkin. At first they looked terrified, spooked by something else moving out here in the dark.

Bren tensed, his hands ready to snap at any second. Though he didn’t have the incense to bring Frumpkin back, he would much rather have to steal some than to be killed by this… thing himself. Bren was smart enough to figure out which town would be best to steal in. After all, he’d made it this far alive. He could do another round of time in jail if he needed to. It wasn’t that hard to get out, most of the time. Jailers only cared about people that really mattered.

Bren certainly didn’t matter.

So he waited, holding his breath as the tiefling bent down to Frumpkin and extended a hand. Bren instructed the cat to move forward, to act friendly but cautious. They really did look like a normal tiefling, though now that Frumpkin was close enough, Bren could see that they were purple. That was new. He’d read that most tieflings were human skin tones, or red.

Their clothes were just as filthy as his own, caked in dirt and mud on the simple but well made material. They winced in pain as they settled further down, letting out a similar groan to before, that sent them into a spiral of coughs.

Not undead. Just hurt.

The fingers they were extending towards Frumpkin looked raw and bloody, so Bren had Frumpkin butt against his ankles instead, and he started purring all on his own. Frumpkin seemed to think they were fine. A small smile was visible on their face at least, just from the sight of the happy cat. Perhaps they were a cat person.

A good sign.

Directly opposed to the angry whispers in the back of his mind that wanted Bren to kill the tiefling on sight, was the voice of his father, saying that cats were excellent judges of character.

And if there was something out there that did this to them, Bren wanted to hear about it so he could avoid it himself.

“Hallo there, friend. I see you found my cat,” he said rather loudly in Common, stepping back onto the path and announcing his presence with a few deliberately stepped on branches for emphasis. Though his current appearance wasn’t as charming as he once carried himself, he still managed to sound quite friendly. That and he was far enough away for them to run if they felt threatened, or for him to get in a few rounds of spells if they attacked him.

Instead they just cowered at the sound, curling up further and picking up Frumpkin to hide away in his fur.

Bren’s calculating air faltered for a moment before he continued his approach. He’d done that himself far too many times. “I think he likes you too,” he said, changing tactics and starting Frumpkin back to purring, now in their arms.

The tiefling was holding the cat like a lifeline, so Bren just kept moving forwards slowly, trying to look as non threatening as possible. He looked to be a bit smaller in stature than the tiefling, but that just made him more nervous. Still, he gathered the courage to give Frumpkin a pat in the tiefling’s arms.

“Can I ask if you’re alright?” he said softly, when they didn’t flinch away from the touch to the cat.

They took a big breath, wincing at the effort of it, then slowly shrugged and shook their head. No. Not really. Bren saw their eyes were a solid red, but not hard to read. The terror on their face was clear.

“Can you speak?”

They mumbled something, hunching over Frumpkin more.

“What was that?”

“Empty,” he said, slightly louder as he lifted his head so Bren could see the solid red eyes, flashing in the darkness like a cat.

_Empty._

Bren nodded slowly. “Ah… I believe… I have been empty before as well. Do you understand me?”

Another nod.

“Gut, do you speak Zemnian as well?”

A head shake. A shame. He expressed himself better that way, but no matter. More important things needed to be established.

“Is what did this to you nearby?”

The tiefling frowned for a moment, then shrugged.

“Can you remember?” Bren asked, raising a brow.

Another shake.

“Did you hurt your head?” he asked, not seeing any large bruises there, but unable to tell. 

They reached a hand around, probing, but came back with nothing but dirt on their hand. No blood. Nothing that made them wince too badly as they probed. In the end they shrugged, but shook their head.

Bren chewed his lip for a moment. “Do you have anywhere to go?”

A shake.

Something inside him spoke to the rationality of the situation. It was better to keep an eye on the tiefling. It would be better to sleep in numbers as well. He could have Frumpkin stay up to watch over them, and wake Bren if there was danger.

It was rational, the voice in his head repeated. Not a kindness, just rational.

“Would you like to make camp with me? I could offer you some bandages, for your fingers, there.” He had plenty to spare; those were easy to nick from general stores. No one was willing to chase a thief who only stole bandages, even if he did get caught. “I don’t have much in terms of food, but I’ll share what I have.”

They were in a wooded area. Frumpkin would probably be able to find them a squirrel or something similar. With the bread he had in his pockets, they would be alright together for a night. He’d reach the next town tomorrow afternoon and swipe what he could. But this seemed right. Traveling in numbers was always preferable to him.

Not because he was lonely.

He didn’t deserve friendly companionship. He deserved to be lonely.

But there was usually safety in numbers and he couldn’t die before he’d set things right, one way or another.

So he was grateful when the tiefling nodded slowly, standing and keeping Frumpkin in their arms.

Normally he would send Frumpkin ahead to look for a good place to camp, but he couldn’t trust the tiefling not to kill him while he looked through his familiar’s senses. He had nothing to heal himself besides the bandages and antiseptic balm in his pack, and he needed to tread lightly. There was still no reason to trust this tiefling, even if they seemed relatively harmless.

Maybe they’d been hurt for a good reason.

Maybe they deserved to travel in pain just as much as Bren did.

He looked over at the purple tiefling slowly nuzzling into Frumpkin’s soft fur and decided that no, that probably wasn’t the case.

They walked together quietly, Bren carefully looking for a small clearing that wouldn’t be too far from the road while still keeping one eye on the tiefling and an ear out for other dangers. Hopefully there were no bandits looking for campfires, but it was too cold not to make one. Bren knew tieflings ran hot, and this one appeared to be shivering in their boots.

Fire was the first thing he took care of when making a campsite these days, so long as he deemed it safe. It used to be difficult to summon the flames and smell the burning wood. He lost himself in the flames from time to time, losing track of time and snapping out of it hours later, when the inferno had calmed along with his pulse.

Now, three years after escaping the Sanatorium, he could start a fire in peace. There were subtle differences in the smell of fresh kindling and wood of a campfire. There was no burning hair or skin, not unless he really fucked up his dinner. And there was no screaming. Just a curious tiefling settling down near the flames, rhythmically stroking Frumpkin’s back with a closed fist to avoid his raw fingertips. There were definitely markings across their skin, tattoos of strange red eyes.

Weird, but they didn’t ring a bell in terms of any cults or things Bren was aware of.

“Is there something I should call you?” he asked after pulling a log over for them to sit on out of the damp grass.

The tiefling shook their head from their seat on the ground. “Empty,” they murmured again.

“That’s alright,” he said, poking at the fire with a stick. “I don’t really have a name anymore either.”

Bren wasn’t really himself, not anymore. He hadn’t told anyone his real name in ages. Clouded in pseudonyms and fake names, Bren was nothing more than a ghost.

They nodded, looking back to the fire.

“I’d like to take a look at your hands, if I may?” 

The tiefling looked up at him cautiously, unsure, but got up to sit beside him on the log. Bren gave them a moment, just taking the time to arrange the logs in the fire to work well for cooking. While he wrapped up the tiefling’s fingers, he’d send Frumpkin to hunt for something for them to eat.

Bren set about pulling out rolls of bandages, his water skein, a clean enough cloth, and a small tin of antiseptic. That was harder to come by, but if he was going to do this, he might as well do it properly. He knew how infection felt, and couldn’t imagine it on his fingers. He’d probably never be able to cast any spells with a somatic component again. Once he was done, he looked back at the tiefling. They raised one arm towards him, grimacing and trembling.

“Thank you,” he said, catching the wrist gently. He’d been trained to look after wounds, and his memory was impeccable as always. These would hurt like hell for a time, but they would heal. The scratches weren’t that deep. In fact…

There was dirt jammed under the fingernails, going far too deep, like they had been scratching at the ground frantically. And they were covered head to toe in filth, though their clothes were of a decent make to have been worth something at one point.

The new information clicked into place. They hadn’t been attacked, not in the traditional sense.

They were buried alive.

“Sheiße,” Bren muttered under his breath, frowning into his work.

He wet the cloth with one hand. “This will hurt, I’m sure. If you’d like, you can keep holding Frumpkin for now, but I planned on sending him to hunt for some food. I saw a few squirrels around, they taste just like rabbit. Are you hungry?”

The tiefling nodded quickly, their red eyes widening.

“Thirsty?” he asked.

They nodded again, and Bren handed them the water skein. “Just a few sips, then have some of this.” he fished out a flask. “It tastes awful, but it’s good for pain.”

He really had the vodka for when he ran out of antiseptic, but a sip wouldn’t put him back that far. Bren pushed Ikithon’s whispered voice out of his head, telling him that he was giving too much without getting enough in return. If anything, that spurred him on more. He could be kind, not like his rat bastard of an old master. If nothing else, this terrified tiefling who had just crawled out of a place intended to be their grave deserved some kindness.

Bren could be like his parents, and be kind.

Almost lost in a memory of his mother cleaning a skinned knee, he watched the tiefling wince as they drank from the flask, sending them into another bout of coughs.

“I’m going to send Frumpkin away now, ja?” he asked, taking back the flask.

They nodded warily, but allowed Bren to instruct the cat to find them something to eat. He told him to try to stay within a hundred feet unless he was chasing something, and to come right back if he saw anything dangerous.

Frumkin gave a nod and trotted off, stopping at the edge of the clearing to lick a spot of matted blood off his fur from tiefling’s hands before disappearing. Bren could hear the stream of consciousness from the familiar reporting back to him, killing a mouse and stopping to have his own dinner after an okay from his master. Bren didn’t mind.

He would be busy for a while, after all. The tiefling’s fingers were tender and raw, and he wished, not for the first time in his life, that he had some healing magic. Or at least the alchemical knowledge to make healing potions. He’d have a lot fewer scars that way.

Alas, he had nothing. His hands could do little with magic without causing destruction. So he was stuck trying to get all the dirt out with some water poured on the clean cloth. He washed his hands as well as he could too, trying to make sure nothing would get infected. The tiefling was doing well, just whimpering every once in a while as they got cleaned up.

Tears beaded up at the corner of their red eyes, but they didn’t cry out.

“Do you… Do you know why you were buried alive?” Bren asked, still looking down as he cut the bandages into smaller strips in his lap with a small dagger.

They shook their head, no. At least that confirmed where the injuries were from.

“That’s alright.” He paused, enjoying the comfortable silence for a moment before going on, “I think Frumpkin caught something; he feels quite satisfied.”

Bren hadn’t been focusing on the familiar since the cat seemed safe and focus was needed on cleaning their fingers, but he did seem to be on his way back, more smug than satisfied really.

The tiefling cocked their head, questioning.

“Frumpkin is my familiar, so I can feel his thoughts as long as he is close. He’s the best cat.”

They nodded with a serious expression on their face, so much so that it surprised Bren into smiling. Usually when he said that people rolled their eyes.

The tiefling offered a small smile in return, and it made something in Bren’s stomach turn. He didn’t deserve this small moment of kindness. He couldn’t focus on that now, looking back and finishing wrapping up the first hand with the bandages and antiseptic. Bren switched over to the second hand. This one had two of those eye tattoos, which he ran his fingers over gingerly.

Just tattoos. A little bit of a weird texture, perhaps, but nothing to worry about.

Bren finished his work, giving the tiefling a small pat on the shoulder. “Any of the bandages too tight?”

They shook their head, letting out a deep breath now that it was all over. 

“Anywhere else need attention?” Bren asked after a moment, wondering if there was more damage that he couldn’t see.

The tiefling gingerly looked around the rest of their body with their now wrapped fingers. Bren could see a few bruises and quite a few scratches, but whatever had happened, the tiefling hadn’t been buried very deep. Eventually they lifted their head and shook it again.

“Gut, gut…” Bren started gathering up his supplies again, taking a moment to change out his own filthy bandages. Normally he would wait until he was alone, but Frumpkin wasn’t back yet and he needed to kill the time somehow. He strongly doubted this tiefling had ties to the Volstrucker.

And if they did, Bren should know sooner, rather than later.

He winced as he saw the tiefling raise a hand to look at the scars, trying not to visibly tremble as they ran a bandaged finger over one of the raised bits of flesh. They looked to their chest, tracing a similar one under one of the eye tattoos.

Feeling his pulse dip back down to normal, Bren mumbled, “We match, ja?”

The tiefling smiled gently at that, nodding and tracing more of their own scars while Bren looked up to see Frumpkin, dragging something in his mouth. “Oh, you perfect thing, look at you,” he cooed, unable to keep the grin off his face as he saw the familiar holding a rabbit in his jaws. It didn’t escape his notice that the tiefling jumped at the sound of Frumpkin’s arrival. Bren was pleased with that. Two observant people on the road were always better than one.

Definitely worth sharing his bandages and Frumpkin’s catch.

The rabbit would take a while to roast, but the idea of having so much to eat for the two of them was very promising. Bren got out his dagger, preparing the meal as quickly as he could. Soon the meat was roasting over the fire, and he could hear both their stomachs growling at the smell.

“Here,” Bren said, pulling out a small piece of stale bread and ripping it in half. “Eat it slowly at first, if it has been a while since you last ate.”

They nodded, licking their dry, cracked lips and reaching for the small hunk to nibble on. Bren did the same, grabbing the fork out of his mess kit and the dagger to flip over the small roast. As they waited, he shared more of the water and brought out a small map.

By the light of the fire he plotted his next few miles, the tiefling peering over his shoulder as he looked for the best pathway.

“Can you read a map?” he asked softly, not wanting to disturb the silence too much as the afterglow of the setting sun had disappeared and calm started to wash over the night. Even with the firelight to attract anyone who cared to search them out, he preferred to stay quiet when possible.

The tiefling shook their head, holding Frumpkin back in their lap as he groomed himself. Bren just nodded and looked back to the tattered scroll. It wasn’t as if he actually needed help with navigation. Avoiding the mountains was important if he didn’t want to freeze, and he needed to stay near the river to continue to get fresh water. After tonight he would definitely need to fill up the water skein. That would likely be his first priority when he woke up in the morning.

That, and figuring out what to do with the tiefling. They would be ostentatious to travel with outside of the woods. Of course, if someone saw the two of them traveling, they were much more likely to remember the purple tiefling in detail, rather than the scruffy, filthy human.

But for now he could push those thoughts aside. He would take the calculated risk of favoring numbers over stealth, for now. He carved up the meat off the roast and filled two of his tin plates, prepping the rest to cook for longer until it was something closer to jerky. Perhaps the lucky catch of the day spoke well to the companionship of the tiefling. They were much less annoying than the usual blathermouths he ended up with. It was rare to find someone quiet who was willing to travel with a filthy beggar man.

They just sat quietly, eating slowly at Bren’s instructions, eyes closed and savoring every bite. 

It was peaceful in a way that Bren wasn’t used to in people’s company.

Though it wasn’t like he could post a listing for mute traveling companions.

He didn’t deserve the comfort to begin with, for one thing.

Looking away from the fire and down on his plate, he pushed those thoughts away too and pulled out his bedroll. It was too small to share comfortably, and the tiefling didn’t seem to have anything to sleep on. They didn’t seem to have anything. Bren had an extra blanket, but that was about it.

He dug deeper in his pack, finding the deep maroon cloak of a Crownsguard. It was thick fabric, meant to protect from the wind and the cold, and would be more comfortable than sleeping with just the blanket. The old thing wasn’t doing him much good anyways, since he would probably be thrown back in jail if he was caught with it. When he’d stolen it he was more concerned about being warm than free, but things had changed. He had his fire to protect himself from the cold, and being imprisoned was just as unpleasant the second time around. And the third, and the fourth. He wasn’t keen on trying for a fifth. So he laid the cloak out on top of the blanket, a few feet from his own bedroll and angled towards the fire to stay warm.

Frumpkin could watch the flames and make sure they were safe.

That and his alarm.

The tiefling watched him curiously as he pulled the silver wire around the campsite, making it so Bren would hear if anyone went in or out. After the ten minutes was up, and the curious expression hadn’t left the tiefling’s face, he felt the need to explain. “It will make a sound if someone tries to sneak up on us.”

They nodded, pointing to the blanket and cloak, then to himself.

“Ja, that is for you. Unless you’d like to move it somewhere else inside the thread.”

Shaking their head, they slid underneath the cloak, wrapping themselves up and smiling softly in the warmth. Their eyelids looked heavy, and by the time Bren was finished packing up the remaining, now jerky-like rabbit meat, they were asleep.

Bren called Frumpkin to his chest, setting him to purr and lull him to sleep with strict instructions to wake him if anything strange happened, or if the tiefling woke up.

The alarm wouldn’t protect Bren inside the circle, but his familiar would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story will update every tuesday!
> 
> comments & kudos are greatly appreciated <3


	2. Ghost in the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bren walks with his new companion into their first town together and tries to make sure he'll be leaving them with enough to survive.

Bren woke from a restless sleep to a thrashing sound, and more awful groaning. He shot upright in a panic, but Frumpkin didn’t seem worried, just hopping over to prod at the purple tiefling while Bren’s pulse calmed. The alarm hadn’t been breached, and no one was attacking him. Not yet, at least. He took a deep breath and looked around the campsite, still dimly lit by the burning coals of their campfire.

The smell of the last burning embers did nothing to soothe his frayed nerves, but there didn’t actually appear to be any immediate danger after a precursory glance.

The forest around him was quiet and the trees were unmarred by flame. The stars shined down on him, Ruidus and Catha bright and illuminating the clearing beyond the light of the dying campfire.

The only disturbance was the tiefling, now reduced to a shaking lump, whimpering on the makeshift bedroll of the maroon Crownsguard’s cloak and the extra blanket Bren kept in his pack. It was a familiar motion, really.

The tiefling was having a nightmare.

Bren could understand that well.

He reached over to put a firm hand on their shoulder, saying, “You are safe, friend. It’s just me here, ja?”

Their eyes flew open, bright like the dying coals, and before Bren knew it, he was wrapped up in purple arms, held tight. His breath caught in his throat and there was fire in his palm before he even knew what to do with it, but the tiefling wasn’t attacking him. There was no pain to flinch away from. They weren’t trying to choke him, or beat at his chest, or hurt him at all, as incomprehensible as it was.

They were sobbing into his chest instead, and Bren could feel the fire in his palm sputter out, just as uncalled for as it had appeared. He hoped at the very least it had warmed his palm as he started rubbing slow circles on the tiefling’s back, thoroughly confused.

More shocked than anything, his first instinct was to offer comfort. The voice in his mind that normally screamed of rationality and his training stayed silent as he instead remembered how his parents would soothe him from a bad dream. He had his own churning inner dialogue to replace Ikithon’s voice, remembering his parents and not his old mentor, struggling to remember the last time someone turned to him for comfort, the last time someone hugged him. 

Even with his impeccable memory, he couldn’t recall. Astrid and Wulf had long since realized none of them ought to trust each other. Their simple embraces were calculated and cold, then they’d died out like every other source of warmth in Bren’s life. Perhaps someone had tried to comfort him in the Sanatorium, but he couldn’t remember those years.

Knowing he’d lost eleven years of his life to madness wasn’t what he ought to dwell on if he was hoping to offer comfort. Thinking about how his face in the mirror now looked more like his father than the boy who killed them was too hard to bear.

Instead he remembered how his father would hold him tight, would allow him to crawl into his parent’s bed. How his mother would pet his hair and whisper that it was all a dream. She would ask if he wanted to talk about it. That was of little help, in this instance, of course.

The tiefling’s embrace was a little too tight, a little too warm, and there was a steady stream of tears wetting the crook of Bren’s neck. A horn was poking into him, a dull, strange sensation that Bren hadn’t ever experienced before. But despite all that, Bren didn’t push them away.

It was… nice.

“You’re alright, my friend,” he mumbled, feeling some of the tight muscles relax under his touch. Talking was helping.

Well, Bren could talk. Even if he was a little out of practice.

“We’re safe, in a small clearing in the woods east of the Quannah Breach.”

“I’ve set up my silver wire, a magic alarm so nothing can hurt us.”

“Even if something got through, Frumpkin would protect us,” he added, hoping to add a little something silly to lighten the mood. The sharp exhale that was halfways to a chuckle that brushed across his chest was reward enough.

“No, truly. He’s a ferocious warrior. Nasty claws,” Bren said, instructing Frumpkin to be as cute as possible and worm his way into the tiefling’s lap.

Frumpkin rolled over on his stomach and gave a particularly pitiful meow, claws completely hidden away as the tiefling moved a hand away from their vice-like grip around Bren to pet the soft, exposed tummy. They even laughed a bit more, something with more substance as Frumpkin stuck out his tongue, blissed out with all the extra attention he’d been getting tonight.

“Gut, gut,” Bren said, unable to help a small smile. “Laughter is the greatest fear of all nightmares, you know?”

The tiefling snorted at that, clearly more calm now, but still trembling just slightly with each breath.

Bren wracked his brain again, thinking again of how his parents soothed him as a child with bad dreams until he landed on a little tune his mother sang when he would rush into their room after a nightmare. It was all in Zemnian, so it probably was just nonsense to the tiefling, but they calmed more almost immediately.

Slowly they shifted against Bren so that they were both no longer both sitting, but lying against his bedroll. Frumpkin moved a bit to purr along the tiefling’s back as they pulled Bren closer and hid in his chest again. They seemed to be more aware of their horns this time though, and their grip was less invasive. It felt more like tender touches he’d once known, a lifetime ago. Pulling up the cloak so the tiefling was better covered, he told himself as soon as they fell asleep, he would get up and sleep on the blanket. It wasn’t the worst place he’d ever slept. The ground was soft enough; he could manage.

He didn’t remember finishing the song.

When he woke again, he was still on the bedroll.

He was still on the bedroll, and he was still being held tight.

He swallowed, unhooking himself from the tiefling’s grasp and attempting to get up to prepare for the first day’s travel. The tiefling grumbled softly, pulling closer and nuzzling into Bren’s chest. It couldn’t be all that comfortable, with his filthy coat and book holsters, but they seemed reluctant to let go.

Bren slowly loosened their hands regardless, ignoring the slight flush creeping up on his cheeks at such physical intimacy after such a long time. It meant nothing, clearly. And the tiefling probably couldn’t see the change in coloration anyway, with how much dirt was on his face. He looked the part of the beggar, and that was only a good thing. Better for no one to pay him any mind. Better for no one to get attached. 

The tiefling sat up, rubbing their eyes and just watching with curiosity as Bren packed up his things and made preparations for whatever spells he might need to cast that day.

“Do you possess any magic?” Bren asked, ever curious.

They looked down at their hands and then back up to him with a small shrug.

“Right. Well, maybe you’ll find some, someday. I hear many tieflings have some magical qualities.” Bren did not mention how he thought it was fortunate that they were likely fire resistant. If there was an accident, they might not get hurt. Or hurt as badly. They probably wouldn’t die.

He wasn’t sure if he could handle that.

For now, he could just watch the quiet, pleased look on the tiefling’s face at the prospect. They liked magic, from what Bren had seen. At least they certainly seemed to, enamored with Frumpkin and the other little tricks they’d seen him do.

It was nice to have someone along with him who appreciated the arcane and didn’t just see him as a tool. Though he was playing the role of a babysitter more than anything else.

It would do, for now.

Bren led them further away from the capital and towards the mountains. He had no desire to be anywhere near Rexxentrum, and the tiefling was more than happy just to follow along. Again, for now, that was fine, but Bren wanted to prepare for their inevitable separation. No one traveled with him for long, and he wouldn’t feel right leaving the tiefling with nothing.

It felt good to continue to ignore Ikithon’s voice in his head, telling him to just use and take all that he could from the tiefling. Instead, he would choose to be kind, while he still could.

In the next town, Frumpkin was able to nick a small coin purse almost immediately after they walked through the gates. The woman it belonged to had spat on him, so the fact that it was hers made it all twice as satisfying. There were no gold pieces, but there was enough silver to pick up another bedroll and a few days worth of rations. It was another lucky break, and Bren couldn’t help but to think well of his catlike companion. A lucky charm for a few days, in Bren’s unlucky life.

Normally people were immediately suspicious of him, but now there was someone else to look at. He could slip into the shadows and the tiefling, who was surprisingly nimble, could follow suit a few moments later.

It was worth spending the money on a bedroll and a second pack, even though he got suspicious looks from every shopkeep he spoke to. Nothing so bad as to refuse accepting his coin though, so the tiefling was able to clutch their new belongings to their chest with a fond look. If Bren were to leave them now, he could rest assured that they wouldn’t freeze to death. He had enough death on his conscience.

Saving a life instead seemed like a good route.

The angry whispering voice in his head vehemently disagreed, but he only felt more spurred on by that fact. That probably meant he was doing the right thing. He might have felt proud of the actions, a lifetime ago, when he still had any semblance of pride.

Soon all the silver was gone and the little pouch was discarded back into the street. The tiefling was inspecting the new little pack and the bedroll in their arms. It was sparsely filled, just a mess kit and their half of the rations.

But it was more than the nothing they started with, and it was more than Bren was used to giving.

It truly felt nice. 

He usually found himself enjoying not being alone. Safety in numbers was always preferable, and, though he was reluctant to admit it, he enjoyed having people to talk to, occasionally. Eventually Bren had to accept that he didn’t deserve that kind of happiness, but now, while this tiefling was relying on him, he could be kind and revel in not being alone.

The tiefling was cautious, and rightfully so, as they made their way through the city. They seemed worried and almost offended by the dirty looks sent Bren’s way, and by extension his own. When the third person of the day spat at Bren’s feet, he actually had to take the tiefling’s hand and hold them back.

“It’s not worth it,” he mumbled, knowing it would just get them into trouble.

Knowing he wasn’t ever going to be worth it.

The tiefling frowned darkly at him, and then looked after the elven woman and her fancy robes, walking by the two without a care in the world. But they just squeezed Bren’s hand tighter, not letting go.

People then seemed confused that they were traveling together, sending more stares their way than he was really comfortable with. Before they’d come into the city, Bren had stopped by a small stream so the tiefling could get the rest of the dirt off. He didn’t really have anything to help clean them up last night, and he needed to refill his water skein anyway. 

Once Bren had gotten the tiefling to the river and cleaned their clothes, they cleaned up quite nicely. Their traveling clothes were threadbare and needed some darning in places, but from a few paces away, they looked quite nice.

Their hair was shorn quite short but was soft and a darker purple than their skin, rather like their horns. As the day went on and they felt a bit more sure of themself, standing up straighter and smiling a few times, Bren might even have called them attractive.

But, like Bren, they were still too skinny and too skittish for anything quite like that.

Still, Bren found himself thinking about the possibility of giving the tiefling more food when he got around to preparing their next meal. It wasn’t as if he deserved to live comfortably, or even to eat, when you came right down to it.

He deserved nothing.

No matter who this tiefling was, they deserved that more than him. Not to mention he was the smaller of the two, once the tiefling had the confidence not to hunch themself up too badly. It made sense.

Bren carefully showed them the ins and outs of the city, what places to avoid, what places to ask for spare coins, what places to bump into people and see if their coin purses were loose. He pointed out who the Crownsguard were, and how that was why the tiefling couldn’t wear their new maroon robe here, even after they carefully pulled the insignia of the crown off it with a dagger. It would need to be changed much more extensively, Bren told them.

Regardless, the tiefling proved themselves handy with Bren’s small knife and rather adept at cutting the ties of coin purses. He noticed that they seemed to target people who looked at Bren with disdain, but that was a conversation for another time. For now, Bren was more than happy to split their small pile of coin and purchase enough rations to make it to the next town comfortably.

Once they were back out of the city, healthily laden with packs full of rations for the coming days, the tiefling tapped Bren on the shoulder and handed him back the knife. Carefully, he took back the dagger, not wanting to knick the purple skin as he took the blade, extended handle first. It wouldn’t be the first small scar on those hands, but he didn’t want to add to them, if he could help it.

“Danke,” he mumbled, tucking away the knife in his belt.

They cocked their head.

“Ah, it means ‘thank you’ in Zemnian. I forget myself sometimes,” Bren said, still struck by the fact that they clearly didn’t want to steal from him or hurt him.

He didn’t understand. He probably never would. They really were speaking two different languages.

As they set up camp that evening, Bren showed the tiefling how to help collect firewood and to clear the brush away from where they would sleep, while he started the fire and found a decent log for them to sit on.

Bren cleaned his hands with the water skein, then split up some of the rabbit from the night before, along with the fresh bread he’d gotten in town. He smelled deeply, pulling apart the still warm loaf with his fingers. Beside him the tiefling copied, smiling softly at the sensation and beginning to eat.

“Back in town,” Bren said, pausing to take a swig of water and another bite of the fresh bread before it got cold, “I grabbed something for you.”

Their red eyes lit up with excitement and they shuffled a bit closer on the log, even though their knee was already bumping into Bren’s.

“It’s nothing special; I just thought it might help preserve your clothes,” he said, quickly deflecting their anticipation and happiness. It was too much directed at him. Instead, he fumbled through his pack to find the little set of sewing supplies he’d stashed away.

He had one of his own for fixing small holes in his clothing, and so he set both of them out on the log.

Many years ago, his mother had taught him how, though he’d never been any good at it. His fingers were much better suited for inscribing spells, leafing through books, and drawing arcane sigils in the air. Still, he knew enough to keep his clothes in one piece, and that was valuable to anyone who was traveling on their own.

Or anyone who had managed to snag their clothes on the way out of whatever horrible grave they’d crawled out of.

It was to help the tiefling’s self preservation, for when Bren inevitably had to split ways with them.

It had nothing to do with the sad, far away, empty look in the tiefling’s eyes whenever they stopped to look at the tears in their once fine clothing.

That was what Bren told himself as he showed the tiefling how to thread a needle and carefully mend one of the small tears in his own spare shirt. They eagerly watched, waiting until the end when he carefully cut the knotted thread and showed him the shirt right side out again before running a hand over the repair.

There was a small bump, as Bren wasn’t the best at this, but he’d showed all the main principles.

“Now, it might be difficult for a time, especially before your fingers heal, but it will help your clothes last longer. You can also add patches to places with lots of wear,” he said, showing the reinforced elbows of his tattered brown coat.

He didn’t have much, but he had some scraps of fabric and the sewing kit had a few strings of different colored thread to match to whatever clothing needed repairs.

“You’ll need different supplies for darning socks or sweaters, eventually, but a patch can work in a pinch then too,” Bren explained, holding out the kit and the scraps of fabric to the tiefling, who was still just staring in awe at Bren’s repaired shirt.

They stared down at the supplies, then pointed to their chest in question.

“Ja, I said I got them for you, remember?” Bren said, trying to ignore the steady red gaze that seemed to see through his soul without seeing anything at all.

They held them close to their chest, the smile splitting across their face too heartbreaking to look at. But before Bren knew it, they were taking their shirt off, revealing once again more of the strange red eyes and scars. He looked away, into the fire, making it a bit brighter for the tiefling to work and focusing on petting Frumpkin.

Until he was tapped gently on the arm.

The tiefling had wrapped himself up in the maroon cloak, bare chested underneath and holding their torn shirt across their lap. They’d threaded the needle from memory, but tapped Bren’s shirt and mimed sewing and a small circle with his hands.

“You want me to show you again?” he asked, nodding when the tiefling brightened. It was easier to communicate than he might have thought when they first met. Of course he’d learned Common later in life, so he was rather skilled at getting his point across, with language or without.

Bren threaded his own needle again, finding a small hole on the hem of the spare shirt. He did it even slower this time, watching the tiefling copy the motions on their own shirt.

“You’re quite good at this,” Bren mumbled, watching the tiefling quickly surpass him with their deft fingers and sure movements. “You’ll be a natural in no time, once your fingers heal.”

They seemed to preen under the praise, grinning and continuing with their work long after Bren finished. There were quite a few little holes and rips in their shirt, and even a few on their pants.

Even though Bren had been around them while they bathed earlier that day, he politely made his way to his bed roll, curling up with Frumpkin and staring at the fire instead of the tiefling in their smallclothes. He wasn’t thinking like that, after all. He didn’t deserve their kindness. He certainly didn’t deserve anything more, no matter how attractive they were when they smiled.

No, as he started dozing off, staring into the flickering flames, kept bright for the tiefling to work, he reminded himself of how he wasn’t to be trusted. Bren fell asleep with smoke in his nose and the firm memory of how he was a monster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story will update every tuesday!
> 
> comments & kudos are greatly appreciated <3


	3. Ghost With No Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bren has gotten better with fire. But he's far from okay.

The pathway Bren had charted for his travel together with the strange purple tiefling skirted along the bottom of the little mountain range, staying near the smaller hills and the winding river. Unfortunately to stay close to the river meant getting closer to areas that were practically frigid at night. It wasn’t as terrible as it might have been up in the mountain range proper, but it was still freezing, with the first frost of the season on its way any night now.

The tiefling had taken to putting their bedroll next to Bren’s and frequently woke up from nightmares, clinging to him like there was nothing else in the world. They slept better with Frumpkin, and the night terrors did seem to be slowly diminishing. But it was still jarring to Bren to be exposed to so much physical intimacy after such a long time with only Frumpkin.

Only a few nights did he have the same issue, but nothing quite as bad. The first night it happened, the tiefling carefully reached over and took Bren’s hand. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, but the pressure was grounding enough to keep him in the present, to keep him from staring and getting lost in the dying embers of the campfire. They rubbed small circles on the back of his hand until he was calm enough to sleep again, and together they drifted off, hand in hand.

The second time it happened, the tiefling did the same, but rolled over to run their fingers through Bren’s hair, just like they might pet Frumpkin. Their fingers must have been completely healed then, a pleasing thought to Bren. He’d managed to heal them, despite his minimal training and his lack of supplies. That warm thought and the soothing motion of fingers through his hair was enough to lull him back to sleep within minutes.

It had been some of the best sleep Bren had enjoyed since he broke.

The guilt gnawed at him, and he knew he didn’t deserve the comfort of a full night’s rest. He knew he didn’t deserve the soft touches and the tender looks, as if they felt about him how he felt about Frumpkin. It made no sense for them to care for a monster, and he didn’t know how to broach the subject of their closeness. He just knew he should, and sat with his guilt about the whole ordeal while doing nothing about the tiefling's tactile nature.

But the cold nights were getting colder and it was getting harder and harder to fall asleep, shivering and trying to keep his nose from running. The tiefling seemed to feel it too, trembling, but never opting to move their bedroll closer to the fire instead of beside Bren.

The first few mornings Bren woke to feel the tiefling leaning against his back, he did nothing.

After about a week, he found himself waking up slower, more calm. It was strange to look at his reflection in a town’s windows and see the dark circles gone from his eyes. The deranged look of fear diminished as well, ever so slightly. Each morning he woke feeling rested, feeling comfortable, instead of the blind panic he usually found himself in. They were _warm_ despite the cold air, and Bren in his sleep addled state couldn’t find a good reason not to relish in a few extra seconds of warmth. It got to the point that when the tiefling curled close and fell asleep, facing Bren and the fire instead of them sleeping back to back, he didn’t say anything about that either.

He liked to think that if they’d tried that first, a week or so ago, he would have put a stop to it. Drawn a line in the sand. Set up some kind of boundaries to make them understand that he didn’t deserve this comfort.

The tiefling was respectful and kind whenever Bren asked them to do something, seeming rather innocent and eager to please. He knew if he asked them to stop, they would without hesitation. He knew if he asked them to face the other way to look out for any bandits or monsters, they would.

He knew this, but said nothing. He said nothing about this closeness; he just held it close as long as he could be allowed to have it.

It was logical progression, he assumed, that the next night he would wake up with an arm wrapped around his waist. The gesture was so tender, so plainly made for nothing but comfort and warmth. Frumpkin had snuggled between them, purring softly while balanced between their two sides but still keeping vigil for any possible dangers. Bren just stared at the purple arm across his waist as he laid in front of the fire, watching the light of the dawn crest over the trees.

Really, it was too cold to keep this close to the mountains this late in the season. Winter’s Crest was right around the corner, and it was only tolerable because of the shared warmth.

He plotted the course for the next day to take them back into warmer territory.

They would need to stock up on rations again soon anyways. The game out here was too big for Frumpkin to catch and too nimble to fall under the hands of either traveler, though the tiefling grew more adept every day of their recovery. But Bren would be lucky to find anything for dinner that wasn’t hiding from the cold, much less manage to fell it without burning it to a crisp.

So they found themselves outside a larger town within the week. It was necessary, Bren told himself. He needed supplies. They both needed supplies.

It didn’t matter that the tiefling hadn’t stopped moving closer as they slept. If he could be the one to _offer_ comfort, he should. The tiefling deserved comfort and warmth; it was just a side effect that he would receive it as well. When they were warm enough, they would stop. 

Right?

Bren shook the thoughts away, once again grateful for his quiet traveling companion who couldn’t ask what he was thinking about. They’d reached a larger town today, and the tiefling was working well with Frumpkin to pick pockets and steal a few coins here and there.

“Would you be willing to help me?” he asked, looking at them outside a shop with arcane goods in the town. He needed paper and ink to keep gathering spells, to keep getting stronger.

And with something bigger than a cat causing a distraction, he might be able to grab more than normal.

The tiefling nodded eagerly, hanging on Bren’s every word as he explained the plan, emphasizing that the proprietor was an asshole (he was, though Bren was desperate enough not to really care) so the tiefling didn’t think he was a terrible person. He wasn’t sure why that was important, but it was.

Things were going smoothly until he stepped out of the shop and moved to slip down into the back alley. He’d scoped everything out beforehand, and it seemed empty enough that two beggars wouldn’t be noticed or at least worried about. He just had to slip by, unseen, as he exited the shop with his pack full of wonderful, quality paper and ink. The tiefling would circle around the block then join him on the next street in a moment, and he’d gotten enough paper and ink to transcribe at least two more spells. 

“And what the hell do you think you’re doing, street rat?”

The air left Bren in a rush as he was slammed against the stone wall of the alleyway, head knocking backwards hard enough to see stars. He could feel the bite of cold metal against his neck, and knew he only had seconds to act.

His limbs felt heavy and sluggish as he tried to speak the incantation to set the man aflame, but the cold steel just dug deeper into his flesh. “Did I catch a magic one? Or are you just speaking some bullshit other than Common?” the guard jeered, a glint in his eye.

His lip trembled, unsure which was worse and which would be cause for his release. If any. He only needed a moment to cast, but he might not have a moment with a slit throat.

From the dark of the alleyway he heard a snarl, and the guard started to scream, stumbling back and clutching at his face as his eyes started to bleed. “Fuckin’ hells- What did you do to me-”

Bren didn’t hesitate, gasping for breath and mumbling the incantation for his firebolt.

“I can’t fuckin’ see-” the guard was cut off by a blood curdling scream as his torso ignited in flames, licking at his skin and singeing his hair.

The scream was too much, Bren’s hand shaking like a leaf as he pulled it back. He could smell ash and burning flesh, and the one scream was quickly joined by two more.

_Leofric and Una Eremendrud._

More people that didn’t deserve to die at his hand.

Dumbfounded, he remained in place, wavering on his feet as his knees threatened to give out. The world around him faded out of existence, and he knew he’d get thrown back in jail. It would be a miracle for him to escape again, if he was thrown in for murdering a guard instead of just stealing. Murderers mattered more than petty thieves, at least enough to be put in heavier chains.

Then there was a heavy pressure against his hand, the hand that kills people, the hand that causes nothing but pain-

There were purple fingers wrapped around his own.

There was a soft pressure as lips pressed into his forehead. And then they were both running. His legs didn’t want to work, but as he heard the cries behind him, he knew he had to keep going. He had no choice.

They kept pulling him along, winding through alleyways until they were running straight out of the city and into a grove of small trees. Bren was hoping to sleep over a warm grate tonight, but they were probably right. It wouldn’t be safe in the city, if people were looking for them. With his red hair and a purple tiefling at his side, they were walking targets.

Strength in numbers was one thing, and he was alive because of it. But he was walking with a bright purple beacon.

They were dangerous for each other. 

Bren needed to find a way to leave them, but now the tiefling had saved his life, or at least his freedom. How could he repay that?

How could he come close to that when he could do nothing but look at the soot under his nails?

They sat him down in a small clearing, tipping his chin up to look into the red eyes. Making a small snapping motion, they then tapped Bren’s hands. Hands that kill people, innocent people- But that wasn’t what they wanted.

Snapping.

_Frumpkin._

He nodded, though the movement was stiff, and snapped his fingers, sending Frumpkin to twine around their ankles and trying to communicate that he should go hunting.

Frowning at the cat scurrying away, they ran and caught him. Bren didn’t let Frumpkin struggle. Maybe they wanted to cuddle with him, after everything that had happened. After the horrible violence they'd seen at Bren's hands. That would make sense. 

But they placed him in Bren’s lap, and placed his soot covered fingers in the soft fur, moving him through a few pets before leaving him to it. Bren might have argued if he had a voice, but Frumpkin began purring and the pressure did feel nice.

Around him, the tiefling flitted, gathering things to assemble a campsite. Slowly they constructed a little firepit and pulled over logs for them both to sit, then they set out the bedding. Soon there was an extended hand in front of Bren’s face as they cocked their head towards the set up.

There was a strange look in their eyes, beyond the worry. A hopeful something. This was the first time they’d set up the campsite on their own. Bren patted their arm gently, trying to muster up the words, “Thank you.”

They broke out in a broad grin, pulling him to sit in front of the firepit. Cocking their head again, they looked towards the wood. There was little, possibly no, judgment in their eyes. If Bren couldn’t do it, it wouldn’t be a big deal. They’d just be colder.

He knew he would need to buy a tinderbox for the tiefling, at some point. They would need to know how to create their own fires. It was a strange oversight on Bren’s part. He’d been so worried about getting them everything they would need on their own, he neglected to remember the things they would need when they were truly without him.

Staring at the fire, he knew he would have to leave soon. He wasn’t safe for them, clearly. He thought he had this under control.

He needed to have this under control.

His hand shook when he went to cast the spell, but he managed.

He didn’t manage to stop the screaming.

But there was a tapping on his shoulder, soft and gentle, and when he saw the purple fingers they retreated and returned full of bread. Bren could smell it from where he sat, stomach growling audibly over Frumpkin’s purring. The tiefling beamed at him and handed him half a loaf.

And gods above, it was still _warm._ Bren sunk his fingers into the warmth and took a bite into his watering mouth. He let out a small sound of delight, grounded by every tactile part of the experience. Against his shoulder, the tiefling leaned into him, still smiling and eating their own bread.

“Did you steal this?” he asked after a time, stomach finally settled and thoughts of screams on the edges of his mind instead of the forefront.

They nodded, eyes sparkling in the firelight.

Bren pulled up the best smile he could manage and ruffled their hair. “I am proud of you. Clearly you’re better at this than I am.”

Their chest swelled with pride, then fell as they shook their head and rubbed a finger gingerly over the cut in Bren’s throat. He winced, holding back a small hiss of pain as their hand darted back, eyes wide.

“It’s okay. The blade was clean, and it’s just a knick. Like shaving.” He’d had worse. Much worse. His forearms itched just thinking about it.

Though they didn’t look convinced, they went back to eating the fresh bread. Bren could feel their tail slowly wrap its way around his ankle, warm and grounding, just like the bread.

It was more than he deserved.

The tiefling deserved better than him for company. This was more clear now than ever.

They finished eating first, then started digging through Bren’s pack. He should have cared about that. He should have stopped them. He really didn’t mind though.

He _trusted_ them.

And when they pulled out the tin of antiseptic and the bandages with a look of triumph, that trust didn’t seem to be ill placed. But the voice in his head berated him for that trust. For that weakness.

Reminded him of what happened when people were a weakness to him.

Reminded him of how that needed to be dealt with.

Reminded him that his only loyalties should be to the Empire.

Reminded him of what people he trusted sounded like when they screamed.

But there were soft fingers with just healed flesh ghosting over his neck, and the sting of antiseptic rubbed into the cut. Carefully they bandaged him up, pulling back to look at him and trying to mime a constricting motion.

He shook his head. The bindings weren’t too tight. “They’re perfect,” he mumbled, trying to focus on the present moment. The stinging antiseptic was grounding, but it wasn’t enough.

Nothing was ever enough on nights like this.

As Bren was dragged over to his bedroll, he saw that the tiefling had set theirs up close by, just like their nights by the cold mountains, despite the warmer air down here, further south. They placed Frumpkin on his chest and curled up close enough to keep his hand in theirs. It was warm and comforting.

But it did little to keep the nightmares at bay, screams ringing in his ears and ash in his lungs, choking him as he sat upright, coughing and spluttering. Arms were around him before he could figure out where he was and he struggled against them, beginning to panic.

Astrid perhaps, or probably Wulf, since they seemed stronger. This time he kept the fire under control. He sent little globes of light into the space instead, painfully aware that he hadn’t been able to make his alarm.

_Purple._

It was so unexpected, the soft purple color dominating his vision, that it dragged him further to the present. The purple arms wrapped around his chest weren’t too tight, weren’t restricting his arms. They just kept him close, and there was a soft sound above him. A gentle humming.

Humming the song he’d sang to the tiefling a few weeks prior.

Humming the song his mother used to sing.

Bren latched onto the sound, following the tune and trying to control his breathing while the screams still roared in his ears. Frumpkin worked his way back into Bren’s lap, and the tiefling slowly pulled them to lie down once more. His cheek was pressed against their chest, hot, as if they’d been lying in the sun all day.

It was so much more than he deserved.

He swallowed, mumbling his thanks.

In response he received a soft press of lips to the crown of his head.

After that, he slept soundly through the night, waking still wrapped and tangled in the limbs of the tiefling, snoring softly above him.

They moved on as if nothing had happened, the tiefling comforting him through every nightmare, and Bren returning the favor when he could. But it was too soft, too familiar, too warm.

It was something Bren couldn’t allow himself to have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story will update every tuesday!
> 
> comments & kudos are greatly appreciated <3


	4. Leave Them Neat and Tidy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bren sees an opportunity to help his new traveling companion and takes it

In the next big town, Bren was looking for a simple dark cloak to help the tiefling cover up all the purple skin, red eyes (real and tattooed), and scars so they could travel quietly and not attract attention. Whenever Bren had to leave them and they’d be on their own, they would be a beacon of color in a dim world. He was worried the Empire would come to snuff it out like it did with everything else beautiful. About to purchase a waxed brown cloak from an older half orc man, he heard a promoter speaking about a carnival, just in the next town over.

A day’s walk and there would be a traveling circus.

Bren remembered stories his mother used to tell him about abused, sad little children running away to the circus, being taken in and taken care of by all those who had done the same in their youth. It might not be as romantic as the bedtime stories made it out to be, but it could be worth looking at.

It was something he wondered about from time to time, with his forearms full of crystal shards and tears streaming down his cheeks. At the time, he thought it was strength to stay, to hold out for his country and make something better of himself then going to throw fire in a tent somewhere. Looking back, it was just another weakness. He should have bolted at the first incision, and taken Wulf and Astrid with him.

Perhaps they could have made a life using their magics to make people happy.

Perhaps there, the tiefling could keep the coin they had and start a life without Bren. A safer life, surrounded by people who could really help them. A life full of color. A life worth living.

A life where they might be able to wear the Crownsguard cloak they’d started embroidering with suns and moons, once they’d finished patching every hole they could find. Bren even found his own clothing mended to perfection, almost good as new, if you ignored how threadbare the fabric was.

They’d moved onto the cloak, acquiring more and more thread of different colors, and even a few beads and buttons to add to the intricate design. It was more than Bren had managed to teach them, and it was more creative than he could ever be. It was further evidence that they were growing beyond Bren being of any use to them.

The second he started benefiting more from this companionship was the second it needed to end.

So they headed out towards this carnival together, while Bren weaved tales his mother had told him as a child.

“Would you like to hear a story?” he asked at the fireside after their dinner, knowing to expect the excited glint in the tiefling’s eyes as they nodded eagerly and moved closer.

He’d told a few, when the tiefling got worried about something. They were easy to distract most of the time, since everything was new to them. Once the simple act of sending Frumpkin over to cuddle didn’t work, Bren improvised. He’d already told the story of _Der Katzenprinz_ and _Die Waldhexe._ It wasn’t hard to see the tiefling had a clear preference for _Der Katzenprinz._

Bren had too, at one point.

There weren’t many Zemnian fairy tales with truly happy endings, so his mother would make up her own. His memory was foggy around the edges, but he could remember his mother’s kind face as she tucked him into bed and began to weave tales.

“Once upon a time, in a small cottage tucked away in the woods, there was a little boy. He was an orphan, adopted by an estranged aunt and uncle he’d never met. At first they were kind, but then the aunt got very sick.”

The tiefling watched with rapt attention, but still reached over to give Frumpkin a little scratch where he sat in Bren’s lap. Bren went on as the cat started purring like a motorboat. His familiar would miss the tiefling’s warm presence. Bren wouldn’t allow himself that. He didn’t deserve it to begin with.

“The aunt passed away and the uncle revealed his cruelty. He would demand much of the small boy, insisting that he do all the chores around the home, as well as working long hours at the local bakery so the uncle could continue his magical research. The uncle was obsessed with the idea of bringing the aunt back to life, but didn’t have the power.

“As the days stretched on and the aunt’s body grew further and further from the possibility of resurrection, the uncle only grew more desperate and more cruel. Whenever the young boy couldn’t complete a task to perfection, the uncle would take off his belt and beat him for his insolence.”

At this the tiefling tapped his knee, cocking their head. Bren fell out of the story and blinked, “A word you don’t know?”

They nodded.

“Resurrection?”

They shook their head. They knew that one. Bren wondered if they had any connection to the process, or if they’d really been buried alive. The longer he traveled with them the harder it was to believe that anyone would raise a hand against them. But the world was cruel, and innocence was nothing but something to be crushed.

“Insolence?”

They nodded again, inching a little bit closer.

“Ah, insolence is disrespect, not obeying orders, the like,” Bren murmured, scratching a bit at the scars on his arms. 

When he realized the tiefling was staring, he went on, “The boy learned some simple magic, to help him clean up the home faster, so he could rest after long shifts at work. Unseen servants to sweep the floors and magic hands to stir pots of stew allowed him to rest his feet.

“But his uncle returned from his studies one day to find the boy resting while his magics worked and flew into a rage. He beat him so badly that welts formed and bled on his back, and the boy started to flee. He couldn’t stand the pain, breaking down into tears and running from the cottage. Though his uncle began to chase after him, the older man wasn’t able to keep up.

“He ran and ran with nothing but his pants and his shoes. He had no one in the entire world, but he knew he could never go back. His uncle would never be the kind man he thought he was again, and returning could only ever mean more pain.

“He ran as fast as his legs would carry him, and then he ran some more, exhausted and on the brink of passing out but still kept running out of fear that his uncle would catch up to him with a vengeance.

“He ran and ran until he saw a strange tent in the distance, and he almost collapsed at the entrance before a man ushered him inside.

“‘The show’s about to begin, my child,’ the man said, leading him to a chair.

“The boy saw a world of color and light like he’d never seen. His uncle’s magic was all for the purpose of bringing back his aunt. His own magic was all practical, so that he could catch a few moments of respite after long days.” After seeing the tiefling’s confused face he clarified, “He needed the respite, the rest, after working so long.”

They nodded and he went on once more, “But here, magic was a spectacle. Dancers flowed about the tent spinning fire and colored sparks.” Bren paused there to cause some sparks to fly from his fingertips with a flourish, feeling something in his chest ache at the positively enamored look on the tiefling’s face.

“Others had charmed animals to run around the ring, completely tame bears and tigers and wolves. There were jugglers balancing long swords on their noses, and clowns who sent the whole audience into raucous laughter. Acrobats and contortionists moved alongside powerful arcanists who wove fantastic illusions and stories of dragon slaying, beautiful adventurers, and star crossed lovers. The young boy was enchanted, and after the performance he sat in the seat and wept.

“The man from before came over to him, as if he could read his mind, and asked, ‘Do you have somewhere to stay tonight, son?’

“The little boy shook his head, and allowed the man to stand him up. The man introduced himself as the ringleader of the circus and gently placed his too big coat over the boy’s shoulders.

“He said, ‘When I was your age, I had nowhere to go. If you’d like to stay, you’re welcome to.’

“Not expecting the kindness, the boy began to weep again, promising that he could help around the carnival, casting the few spells he knew to attempt to prove his worth.

“‘You’re quite talented, little one,’ he said, ‘but save your strength. You’re welcome here.’ He wasn’t judged by his strength or his weakness or his usefulness, just for who he was, as a little boy who needed a home. The circus people were kind to him, and he was able to travel with them for many years and live happily ever after.”

The tiefling smiled, seeming to enjoy the story well enough, perhaps even more than _Der Katzenprinz._ Sleep found the two of them easily after the tale was done, and Bren tried to ignore how the tiefling nuzzled closer despite the warmer weather.

He could hold on to this tonight, since tomorrow he would no longer have it.

This part of the Empire was dangerous; Bren knew that well. He’d encountered his fair share of monsters and cutthroats traveling on his own.

He knew that and it was part of the reason he was out here.

But Bren still wasn’t expecting to see a bunch of bandits at the front of the carnival when he and the tiefling finally arrived. They were talking some bullshit about a tax on staying in the open field. As he walked, he supposed that meant his general luck traveling with the tiefling was up. It was time for them to help some other folks into good luck. He didn’t deserve it anyway. When one of the bandits grabbed a woman talking with them and held a sword to her throat, the tiefling looked to Bren with near panicked eyes.

They wanted to help. Bren knew they were too good. He knew his time was almost up. He threw them his dagger and pulled out his component pouch.

Once Bren was close enough to send a precisely aimed firebolt towards the one holding the woman, she nodded in appreciation, and stood back to do the same while the half orc behind her prepared for a fight as well. Bren recognized she was a fire genasi then, but was more distracted by the tiefling rushing at one of the bandits with just the little dagger illuminated with what looked like ice.

Fire and ice.

One to burn the world to ash and the other to soothe, only violent when necessary, when abused.

If Bren’s mind hadn’t been made up yet, the universe seemed to be sending him signs left and right. They were too good for him, and they always would be.

The fight was over as quickly as it had begun, the bandits not willing to put any bite behind their bark. There were no deaths, just the few men scrambling away with their tails between their legs. Well, so to speak. The only tailed creatures, the tiefling and Frumpkin, were quite triumphant, the appendages in question flicking back and forth in excitement.

“Thank you, gods, I don’t know what we’d have done without your help,” the woman said, dressed all in reds and rubbing at her sore neck.

Bren nodded, slipping his component pouch back into his tattered coat pocket. He hadn’t really done much but surprised the bastards. “It was the least we could do.”

“Of course. I’ve been telling Gustav we need better security, but he never listens. The show doesn’t start for a bit, but feel free to take a look around. I’ve got to get ready, but thank you again,” she said, shaking Bren’s hand quickly before disappearing. The tiefling looked after her curiously, but they were left alone.

Or not entirely alone.

A young blonde girl pointed at the two of them from behind one of the tents and ran up to the tiefling with a shy smile, something hidden behind her back.

They crouched down, smiling softly at her as she took a tentative step forward and placed a flower in his palm that was the same color as his purple skin. Their eyes flew open wide and a broad grin spread across their face that made their red eyes crinkle at the edges. Amongst all the colors here, they looked like they belonged.

“Hey, you two are the folks that helped out Orna and Bo with those bastards out front, right?” A man stepped forward from between two tents, followed by the half orc who had gotten one of the bandits square in the jaw earlier. He might have been able to hold off the bandits without Bren and the tiefling’s help with his muscles, but Orna might have been hurt.

It was lucky they were there.

The tiefling, despite all the rumors Bren had ever heard about their infernal lineage, was a little good luck charm. One he had been hoarding, selfishly.

“Ja, that was us,” he said softly, not really enjoying the attention.

Before he could do anything about it, the tiefling had darted out to take his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. A lump rose in his throat. That was why he was doing this. The tiefling was too good to him.

He didn’t deserve it.

“Well, thank you. If you’d like to stick around for the show, you’re more than welcome to.” The man smiled, a broad true thing that the tiefling easily returned.

Bren knew he should leave.

He knew lots of things that all left his head as the tiefling looked to him, eyes alight with more magic than Bren had ever held in his soul. They’d seen some of the performers practicing, and a free show was clearly something they hadn’t expected, even after Bren’s story.

“We’d get you good seats. Right in front,” the man said, seeming to sense Bren’s trepidation. There were scars across his face, but his eyes were kind, gentle and understanding.

Looking to the tiefling, he thought he could stay a few more hours. It wasn’t like he needed to get anywhere fast. And it would be nice to be nearby, for a while, just in case.

Bren sighed softly and let the tiefling take his hand as they wandered through the tents, escorted by the circus performers until they were brought to the largest tent and sat in the best seats in the house. The tiefling was buzzing with excitement, tail continuing to flick back and forth as they looked at their surroundings. Bren was watching too, but he was looking for red flags. Things that might mean that he shouldn’t leave them behind.

He found nothing.

His description of the circus the night before was lackluster compared to the real thing. The tiefling watched, utterly smitten with everything they saw.

The acrobats made Bren a bit nervous, twirling in the air like that with no net beneath them, but he kept the feather in his hand in his pocket, just in case someone were to fall. The incantation for featherfall danced on his lips but it was unnecessary. 

The little blonde girl had one of the most beautiful voices he’d ever heard, despite the strange figure with her unsettling him. A man played a fiddle with some sort of unseen servant, making it float and dance about his head in time with the music. It was just as his story professed, a celebration of magic instead of a practice in pragmatism or destruction. This would never be a place for him.

When Orna came out to dance with fire, the tiefling took his hand and didn’t let go. Once again, Bren’s chest began to ache, but he knew he had done nothing to deserve this kindness.

So when the show was over, he separated from the crowd with the tiefling, walking them to the back of the tent. Their tail wrapped around his wrist to avoid being separated in the mass exodus of people making their way out of the tent. The blonde girl from earlier was there, half hiding. When she saw them she waved and ran back up to the tiefling.

The little girl took their hand, tugging them deeper into the carnival with an expectant look. They turned to look at Bren, clearly wanting to go with her, but torn.

Bren’s heart just about broke. They were too good. He needed to put an end to this, and the opportunity had just landed in his lap.

“Go take a look around, ja? I’m going to ask some questions.”

They cocked their head, curious but unable to form a question themselves. Their tail slowly unraveled from its place around Bren’s wrist as they turned to go. Bren took one last good look before turning away himself and going to find someone who might have authority here. Orna had mentioned a “Gustav,” who he’d seen as the ringleader, though he’d been paying more attention to the tiefling’s enjoyment of the circus than the actual performances.

He walked around and found the people there smiled at him, waving instead of throwing him out, despite walking around in the back. It was a kind atmosphere, and he could see the tiefling being dragged to an area with folks practicing. Their eyes were opened wide, watching a fire dancer up close with awe. Bren took a deep breath and found someone who looked vaguely in charge, approaching the half elf. “Hallo, are you the proprietor of this carnival?”

“I am! I’m Gustav Fletchling of The Fletching and Moondrop Traveling Carnival of Curiosities,” he said with a bit of a flourish. Bren had guessed correctly. “I’ve been looking for you folks. Ornna and Desmond told me you’re one of the two strangers that saved us from paying a tax that doesn’t exist! Are you looking to run away to the circus? We can always use people.” He winked down at Bren, an easy smile across his features. He could tell this man was too genuine for his own good.

Bren shifted from one foot to the other, “Ah, I’m not sure that life is for me. But my traveling companion there, I think they might enjoy it. Would you look after them? They’d pull their own weight, help cook and collect firewood and all that. They’re quite a good fighter, if you give them the right weapons.” He could leave them the dagger at least, for a start. They still had it tucked in their belt.

“Like I said, we always need more bodies. Is there a reason you’re not staying? We could use another magic user,” he said, looking at Bren with too much knowing pity in his eyes. Pity he didn’t deserve. Hell, he deserved to rot.

He swallowed. “I think… I think it would be better if they forgot about me, ja? With any luck they’ll forget me by the time they re-learn to speak. Just look after them.”

“Will do, sir. Already looks like they’ve taken a liking to Toya.”

Bren saw the tiefling with the little girl again, being led around and introduced to everyone. They were all waving and smiling at the tiefling, gentle and warm. They seemed like good people. Better people than him, anyways.

“Indeed. Danke. At least I can leave one thing better than I found it.”

“Take care of yourself, friend,” Gustav called out after him. He didn’t bother to point out that they weren’t friends. Bren didn’t deserve friends, and he certainly didn’t deserve to be taken care of.

He started walking back towards the road, ignoring the purple tiefling behind him, looking around in concern and being led to the main lodging tent to get some food and cleaned up. Bren instructed Frumpkin to stay with them for a while, make sure they really were good people. That way he could check in on the tiefling, make sure they were okay. There was no one around him for now, so he slipped into the cat’s eyes, watching the tiefling relax and pick the familiar up.

They stopped looking for Bren. He wasn’t sure if that was because he always came back for his cat, or if they really just wanted to be with Frumpkin and the kind circus people who were currently leading him into a big tent and giving him some food. They seemed safe, and pretty content.

They looked down at Frumpkin’s eyes with recognition and bent to kiss the cat’s forehead. They were too smart for their own good, at least when it came to Bren.

He took a deep breath and left Frumpkin’s senses, ignoring the ache in his chest and beginning to walk.

As long as they were safe, they wouldn’t find Bren again.

Bren was just a ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a quick epilogue, and then this story will be finished! thanks for coming along for the ride <3


	5. Epilogue: You Don't Need Poltergeists For Sidekicks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little epilogue, just to bring things full circle <3

"Do I know you?"

The purple face was unmistakable, even if Bren, if _Caleb,_ never forgot a face. There were more tattoos now, swirling up around the red eyes he’d once known. The voice was lilting and teasing, one that he didn’t recognize.

His breath caught in his throat as he fought to school his face into an impassive mask. Even still, he rubbed at the faint silvery scar across his neck that the tiefling had once helped him patch up, just subconsciously. The man this tiefling knew didn’t exist. He would always be a ghost. 

He cleared his throat, his voice a tad deeper than normal, just as a precaution, "I'm afraid I just have one of those faces."

The tiefling hummed, a riot of color and expression. Any hesitance was gone, any timidity. "Sorry to bother you. Must be the accent. And the cat."

Caleb swallowed, but kept his expression utterly neutral. He'd clearly done the right thing, and he'd always been a good liar. "Must be."

He stared after the tiefling who was moving on to the next table with a wide grin and a flourish. He had done the right thing. But when Nott asked to go to the carnival with the half orc, the human, and the blue tiefling girl, he couldn’t say no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! please leave a comment if you enjoyed <3


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